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Dorian was panting with exertion in the cool evening air, cast in muted twilight hues. His chest was bare and beaded with moisture, rivulets of sweat dripping down his neck, the curve of his jaw, the planes of his back and chest, catching the light from nearby torches and glistening with it.
There was something artistic about the way Dorian wielded his staff: like a glaive, sweeping through the air in a series of graceful revolutions that culminated in strong, quick and steady thrusts of the bladed end. Every movement was fluid and elegant; he was a dancer twirling light on his feet, and then a skilled fighter as the motion carried him into a low, balanced stance, from which he’d stab or swing his staff.
It wasn't always like this, of course – Dorian spent most of his time in an actual battle casting at range, and while that involved its own bit of fancy footwork at times, it wasn’t anything as beautiful and thrilling as this.
In fact, the Iron Bull had only seen him use his staff this way in battle a few times, when enemies had broken the front lines and charged to the back, when Dorian had been too low on mana to scatter them with a fear spell and he’d needed to physically fend them off long enough for the Bull to grab their attention again.
The Bull had never before had the opportunity to observe, to really watch, to see the finesse of it. In the thick of battle, you couldn’t stop to admire your lover’s fighting form, no matter how sexy it might be. The Bull wasn’t about to let go of this rare chance.
He didn't hide his approach; a few audible clacks of his soles on the stone announced his presence in the courtyard where Dorian was practicing. Dorian crested the apex of his spin with his staff held high overhead, swung it down in an arc that would have put a serious dent into the skull of anyone in its path, and then pulled himself into a looser, more relaxed posture and stood facing the Bull, his chest heaving.
The Bull didn’t say anything, and for a long moment, neither did Dorian. He stood silent, his breath gradually calming and his dark skin practically glowing in the dimming evening light. He was fucking beautiful.
Eventually, Dorian broke the silence with a short sigh. “Well, if you’re just going to stand there and gawp at me you might as well make yourself useful.” He flicked his head toward the stand where the wooden training weapons were kept, and there was a flash of fire in his eyes to match the subtle curve of his lips when he met the Bull’s gaze again.
“You want to spar?” The Bull appraised him, the curves and angles of him -- hard, powerful muscles under all that perfect, dewy skin. It was easy to forget sometimes, how strong Dorian was. How sturdy, under all the flowing silk and fancy bustling he insisted on wearing. Good on him, though, for using other people’s assumptions about him to his advantage: that was something the Bull knew all about.
“Unless you’d rather stand still and be my training dummy,” said Dorian. Tonight, dressed only from the waist down in his leathers, Dorian looked every bit the powerful fighter he could be when he wanted to. The Bull chuckled, nodded, and both of them headed for the weapons rack, Dorian to retrieve a staff without a vicious blade on the end of it, while the Bull picked out a wooden approximation of a longsword. It wasn’t his favourite weapon to work with -- he preferred the heft of a greataxe or warhammer -- but it better suited the reach and maneuverability of a polearm.
Weapons in hand, they moved back toward the center of the training ring and stood a meter apart. They shifted into defensive stances: Dorian low and balanced with his staff held mostly horizontally in front of him; the Bull with his sword at the ready. The Bull struck out with a few quick, testing blows, which Dorian countered easily, knocking the wooden sword aside with a dubiously arched eyebrow.
The Bull smirked and gave him a real swing, then doubled back with another when Dorian knocked the first away. Dorian swivelled gracefully into the Bull’s blind spot to avoid the second blow, twirled his staff up overhead, and the Bull swung his sword up just in time to deflect the impact.
Dorian moved with the momentum of the glancing strike, letting it carry him back out of the Bull’s range, and returned to his defensive posture. They were both breathing a little heavier, and Dorian’s lips were bent in a smile to match the Bull’s, that one eyebrow still delicately arched in challenge.
Then it was Dorian who lunged, putting the Bull on the defensive with a quick succession of hits that made a blur of the staff, executed with a dramatic flair that was all Dorian. He pressed his advantage when he found it, and managed to back the Bull up a few steps, but eventually the Bull found an opening and struck out with his pommel. The blow didn’t land but it did disrupt Dorian’s assault, and once again he whirled back out of reach and they both took a moment to catch their breath.
Another exchange and things got more heated, the Bull lashing out in heavy swings and jabs, and Dorian masterfully evading each time and then coming back at him with a flurry of spinning blows seemingly from everywhere at once. They were both grunting and roaring with their efforts, their wooden weapons clacking against each other when they met, the sound echoing back to them from the courtyard walls.
The light of day had almost completely faded when the Bull slipped, just the slightest fumble, but Dorian saw the opening and took it, and in those last few lingering moments of daylight they stood together in the courtyard, panting hard and sweating, with the blunted tip of Dorian’s practice staff under the Bull’s jaw and pressing just slightly against his neck.
They stayed like that for the space of a half-dozen ragged breaths, and then the Bull said, “Fuck, Dorian,” as he dropped his sword and stepped in closer. Dorian kept the staff raised but otherwise didn’t protest the movement, but his eyelids fluttered just slightly when the Bull brought his hand up to Dorian’s face and carded his fingers into the sweaty mess of his hair. “You are so fucking hot right now,” he growled, clenching his fist into a rough grip and tugging Dorian’s head back.
Dorian dropped his staff and fucking keened, and the Bull felt it down to his balls -- that needy sound and the way Dorian seemed to tense and melt at the same time, fanning the flames in his belly into full-on arousal. He slid his fingers to the back of Dorian’s head to pull him forward, and Dorian let him, went up onto his toes as the Bull wrapped his other arm around his waist and their lips clashed this time, teeth and tongues and harsh, gasping breaths.
Dorian’s hands were on the Bull’s chest, fingers slipping on wet skin and failing to find purchase. The Bull crowded him as they kissed until Dorian took a step backward, then another, the Bull guiding them back to the far wall, toward a corner veiled in shadow. Dorian made a startled little grunt into the Bull’s mouth when his back hit the wall, but then sank gratefully against it and bit at the Bull’s lips hungrily.
The enthusiasm was a good sign. Dorian could be kind of cagey about this sort of thing in public, but the sun had now fully sunk below the horizon and their little corner was in near complete shadow. Only the ambient light from the moon and stars allowed them to see each other in the dark, and nobody used the training yard at night, so the chances of them being seen were slim. Still, just to be sure, the Bull broke their kiss, smeared his lips along Dorian’s jaw instead and felt the slightest rasp of stubble against his lips. “This okay?” the Bull asked, low and and rough in Dorian’s ear, then leaned in to nip at Dorian’s earlobe and felt the shiver it elicited where their bodies were pressed together.
Dorian’s fingernails dug into the flesh of his shoulders and he fixed heavy-lidded eyes on the Bull, his lips curled up in something that was half-smile, half-smirk, and entirely sexy. “Shut up,” said Dorian, and he slid down the wall, the scrape of his leathers loud against the stone. Then he was on his knees looking up, eyes flashing in the dark, his hands on the Bull’s thighs and rubbing up toward the waistband of his pants.
The Bull braced himself with one hand on the wall, his other going to Dorian’s head to wind his fingers in his hair while Dorian worked the Bull’s belt open and started pulling at his pants. The Bull tightened his grip in Dorian’s hair and tugged, jerking his head back and interrupting Dorian’s frantic hands from their task. Dorian’s eyelids fluttered and his lips hung open on a heartfelt groan as he grabbed onto the Bull’s thighs for balance, and the Bull’s dick twitched at the sight and the sound and the feel of it all, hardening in anticipation of those pretty lips on his cock, out here in the open air.
“You’re fucking gorgeous like this,” the Bull ground out, voice gone gravelly with wanting. Everything was bathed in shades of blue-black in the nighttime, but the Bull didn’t have to see the colour in Dorian’s cheeks to know when he was flushing hot from the praise. It was amazing, the way a few simple words could unwind all the tension for a while. For a man who usually appeared to be so brazenly confident, Dorian spent a hell of a lot of time flogging his own ego, but the Bull was happy to stroke it for him now and then -- especially in moments like these, when he let his guard down a bit, when he’d allow the outside world to touch him, even if only a little.
The Bull gentled his fingers in Dorian’s hair, slid them down the side of his face and brought his thumb to rest in the center of that plush lower lip. “You don’t know how fucking amazing you are, do you,” he rumbled rhetorically, pressing his thumb forward to meet Dorian’s tongue, which swiped delicately at the pad of it. Dorian didn’t answer, of course, but he looked up at the Bull as though transfixed, hanging on his words.
“Powerful mage, fucking amazing fighter, and here you are on your knees for me,” the Bull continued reverently, pulling his thumb back to trace moisture over Dorian’s lips and along his cheek. Dorian was breathing hard enough that the Bull could see the movement of his chest even in the low light, could hear the harsh pull of air into his lungs. “Waiting for my dick. So good, waiting to take whatever I give you, aren’t you?”
Dorian’s next breath came out sharper, shivery, and he licked his lips, clenching handfuls of the Bull’s pants. “Yes,” he said, more breath than voice, his gaze shifting down in front of him to where the Bull’s cock tented the fabric covering it. Dorian licked his lips again, swayed slightly forward, and the Bull’s dick twitched, his own breath catching at the sight before him, the anticipation building between them. Dorian stopped before he got close enough to touch his lips to the distended material, looked up at the Bull and bit his lower lip. “Please,” he said, a little more force his voice now.
The Bull knew what Dorian wanted, had known since that kiss in the training ring, when Dorian had melted against him and let himself be pushed around without a fight. Dorian’s tells weren’t nearly as subtle as he liked to think they were; he got pushy when he wanted to be held down, got difficult and bitchy when he needed a few good smacks to the ass to really get him going. And when he got real quiet and pliant…
“Tell me, baby,” the Bull said, his thumb tracing a little circuit along Dorian’s cheek. Every time they did this, every time the Bull got Dorian to ask for something he wanted, it was a small victory. It was like prying away the jagged bits of shame and guilt left in the scars from Dorian’s life in Tevinter: the biggest ones had been removed but all these tiny pieces remained. Not that sex was the answer, no matter how vigorous -- but now and then a few got knocked loose in the process.
Dorian’s face was hot under the Bull’s hand and he looked like he was about to vibrate out of his skin, but he held the Bull’s gaze. “Use me,” said Dorian, and it was a good start, especially with that pleading look in his eyes -- it had worked in the past, and even now something warm fluttered in the Bull’s gut -- but Dorian could do better.
“Use you how,” prompted the Bull, a grin pulling at his lips when Dorian’s eyes narrowed and his brows knitted into a chagrined glare. They’d played this game before, and the Bull usually won; he watched as Dorian momentarily warred with his own inhibitions, and saw the moment that desire won out over all that other junk in his head.
“Just, fuck… Bull,” Dorian said, haltingly, then all at once: “Just fuck my face,” his eyes squeezed shut as he forced the words out. The Bull’s breath came out in a low groan and he cupped his hand around the back of Dorian’s neck, squeezing the muscle in a way that had Dorian shuddering out another loud breath.
“Yeah,” said the Bull, a bit dazed by how hard that had hit him. Dorian’s hands moved up to tug the waist of the Bull’s pants down and finally exposing his straining erection. The Bull held Dorian’s neck and shifted his hips forward until the fat, dark head of his cock lay against Dorian’s soft lips, smearing moisture over them. Dorian suckled the salt from his tip, a soft, wet press of lips before he opened his mouth, tilted his head back so that the head of Bull’s cock rested on his tongue, haloed by his open lips. Dorian kept the Bull’s gaze as he waited like that, trembling slightly with the effort to stay still, breathing hot and humid down the length of the Bull’s prick.
“Shit, Dorian,” said the Bull as he shifted his hips forward, pushing slowly into the heat of Dorian’s mouth. “That was the sexiest fucking thing I’ve ever heard you say.” Dorian exhaled a whimpery little noise and fluttered his eyes closed as the Bull filled his mouth, pressed forward until he felt the resistance at the back of his throat. He started to ease back, then, but Dorian reached to cover the Bull’s hand on his neck and squeezed it, gave a moan that managed to sound petulant. “Alright,” said the Bull on a breathy laugh, message received.
Dorian took in a deep breath through his nose and the Bull moved forward again, pulled Dorian toward him with gentle pressure on his neck, pushed himself into the clenching grip of Dorian’s throat as Dorian swallowed around the intrusion. “Oh, fuck,” the Bull said as he sunk deeper into that wet warmth and Dorian pressed his tongue up against the underside of his dick. “Your fucking mouth.” Dorian spread his knees wider on the ground, made himself shorter and tilted his head back so that the line of his throat was straighter to make the way easier, and the Bull growled his approval.
“Oh fuck, just like that, yeah.” Dorian’s lips were spread wide around the very base of him, his eyes closed and his nose pressed into the Bull’s skin. “So fucking perfect, Dorian, taking my whole cock like that.” The Bull pulled back out of Dorian’s throat so he could suck in a few deep breaths. Dorian moaned on each exhale, and the Bull could just make out the glistening trail of saliva that crept down his chin. It was something that Dorian didn’t want mentioned, so the Bull didn’t mention it, but it drove him wild all the same. When Dorian looked up at him again, the Bull pushed back down his throat, a bit faster this time, grinding against his face and groaning from the waves of tight constriction around his cock as Dorian swallowed.
Dorian was one of the only people who had ever been able to swallow the Bull’s cock; it had taken them a while to work up to this point, where the Bull could shove right down into his throat like this. Most of the people the Bull had fucked didn’t even care to try, and those who had tried mostly gave up after a few failed attempts. The Bull had been fine with that, of course -- he was always up for pretty much anything, and he didn’t get much out of sex if everyone wasn’t having fun, so he’d never much missed it. Dorian fucking loved it, though, and that made it into something the Bull fucking loved, too.
Hand firm on the back of Dorian’s neck, the Bull held him still to fuck deep into his throat, again and again, as he let loose a litany of praise: “So fucking good at this,” and “Taking my cock like you were made for it,” and “Shit, you are fucking gorgeous.” That was a big part of what Dorian got off on -- the Bull had been with plenty of guys who wanted to be degraded, a few women too; but Dorian didn’t want to be a filthy cocksucker; he wanted to be the best damned cocksucker the Bull had ever been with. And the Bull wasn’t lying at all when he told him he was.
They usually did this with Dorian laid out on his back on the bed, his head hanging back over the side, the long line of his throat bare and begging to be touched. The Bull liked to wrap his fingers loose over Dorian’s neck as he filled his throat, liked to feel the shift under his fingertips, fucking loved to see Dorian’s cock twitch and strain and leak when he did it. It would be an awkward stretch in their current position, but just thinking about it was doing things to him, driving him quickly toward the edge.
“Fuck,” groaned the Bull, pulling back to thrust more shallowly into Dorian’s mouth, letting him catch his breath again. Dorian moaned on his heavy exhalations, voice hoarse and cracking, but he kept the pressure of his tongue against the underside of the Bull’s cock, kept the seal of his mouth tight, and he blinked up at the Bull to clear the water from his eyes. It looked like tears glimmering on Dorian’s skin in the dark, and that had screwed the Bull up in the beginning, thinking Dorian was crying -- he’d lost an erection or two in the early days because of it. The Bull wiped away the moisture with his thumb, smeared it across his cheek, and Dorian’s eyes fell closed again at the gentle caress. “Gonna come soon, baby. You ready?”
Dorian moaned again, breathy and high, and squeezed his fingers on the Bull’s thighs. “Good boy,” said the Bull as he slid his fingers up to the top of Dorian’s head and grabbed a tight hold of his hair. Dorian gasped and tensed at the sting, but quickly relaxed again and urged the Bull on with the rhythmic squeezing of his fingers. “Deep breath,” the Bull directed, and Dorian complied shakily, deep in and out, and in again through his nose.
The Bull used his leverage in Dorian’s hair to fuck his face, not slow like before but with purpose, now. “Fuck, shit,” he growled as he did, and Dorian couldn’t make any noise with his throat full, but he held onto the Bull’s thighs, dug his nails into the flesh in the way he knew drove the Bull wild, the sting of pain ratcheting up the pleasure that swelled in his groin, at the base of his spine.
“Going to come down your throat, you’re so good. So fucking perfect, your mouth,” he said as his hips stuttered and he began to lose his rhythm. The pressure was building in his balls, his cock throbbing and twitching on the edge of orgasm; he pulled out of Dorian’s throat to shallowly fuck his mouth instead for the beautiful suction and the pressure of Dorian’s tongue against his frenulum. Both his hands clenched into tight fists, one in Dorian’s hair and the other against the wall behind them as he reached his peak and the pulse of his orgasm swept through him. Dorian sucked him through it, swallowed him down, kept gently suckling until he was completely spent.
The Bull’s softening cock slipped from Dorian’s mouth and he sucked in rasping, panted breaths, while the Bull leaned heavily against the wall for a few moments, hazy and shivery in the afterglow. He heard a quiet whimper from below, and when he looked down he saw the rhythmic flexing of Dorian’s shoulder, heard the unmistakable sound of him beating himself off.
“Hey, uh uh,” said the Bull, gathering his wits together with a shake of his head. Dorian let out a plaintive little moan but subsided, pressing his palm flat against his erection instead, his breath catching in his throat when the Bull reached down to pull him up by the arms and shove him upright against the wall. “Not done with you yet.”
Dorian looked wrecked, his brows knit up in a desperate, imploring pout, his lips swollen dark and wet, his chin still slick with spit and fuck, he was irresistible. The Bull leaned in to kiss him, licked into Dorian’s mouth and tasted himself there, and already his prick was twitching in an attempted resurrection.
Reserection, that was a good one. He’d have to share it with Dorian later.
The Bull smoothed his hands down Dorian’s arms to grab his wrists and pinned them at either side of his head, pressed up against him from his chest down, jammed his thigh in between Dorian’s legs to give him something solid to grind against.
Dorian couldn’t move enough to get himself off, not trapped and restrained as he was, so the Bull just chuckled and bit at Dorian’s lips and let him rut his naked dick against the fabric between them. The Bull yanked Dorian’s wrists up over his head and held them there with one hand, freeing the other to drag red lines down the flawlessly smooth expanse of his chest. Dorian’s breath hitched and shivered as the Bull rubbed his thumb down over a nipple and back up again, the flesh pebbling quickly under his attention and begging to be pinched.
“That was real good, baby,” said the Bull as he rolled Dorian’s nipple between his thumb and forefinger, whispering the words against Dorian’s mouth and chin as he bit a trail across his jaw. “You’re so good, I’m gonna give you a reward.” He moved his mouth down under Dorian’s jaw, lips and stubble smeared over his neck.
Dorian turned his head aside, exposing his throat, and the Bull bit down lightly at the juncture of neck and shoulder, sucked at his skin. Gentle at first and then harder, drawimg blood to the surface; he felt the vibration of Dorian’s groan beneath his lips.
“I’m gonna fuck you, right here, up against this wall," said the Bull. He shifted back just enough that he could see Dorian’s face, found him with his eyes closed and his brows knit, flushed and breathless in the dim blue light. Dorian blinked his eyes open and met the Bull’s gaze, chewed on his lower lip and squirmed within the Bull’s grasp, twisted his wrists. Testing, but not struggling. The Bull searched his face for any sign of uncertainty, discomfort, but it was hard to tell in the dark.
“My--,” Dorian started, but it came out mostly air, dry and raspy. Dorian swallowed, licked his lips, the movement of his tongue catching the Bull’s attention for a moment. “My watchword is Katoh.” His voice was low but his eyes were fierce, not a trace of ambiguity in his expression. The Bull squeezed his hand around Dorian’s wrists in acknowledgement, leaned back in to kiss him again. Pinched a nipple hard enough that Dorian squirmed against him; the Bull drank down his startled gasp, then rubbed over the pebbled flesh with his thumb to soothe the sting.
The Bull released Dorian’s wrists to turn him around by the shoulders and crowded him up against the wall, slid his hands down Dorian’s sides and hooked his fingers into the loosened waist of his leathers. “Hands on the wall,” he said next to Dorian’s ear as he roughly pushed the leather down over the swell of Dorian’s ass until it was rucked into untidy creases around his upper thighs. Dorian brought his arms up, forearms pressed to the wall from elbow to wrist, his breath shivering out of him as the Bull grabbed a handful of bared ass cheek. “Stick that pretty little ass out for me, baby.”
“You’re obscene,” Dorian hissed, all breath and heat but no venom. He complied, resting his head in his arms where they were crossed against the wall and arching his spine to tilt his hips out, his back shifting with the motion, serpentine; it was fucking beautiful. The Bull drew his hand up to the middle of his back to feel the way the muscles shifted as he moved, stayed there for a moment even when Dorian stilled, not fully bent over but angled forward with that glorious ass out and on display.
“You love it,” said the Bull, smirking as he leaned over Dorian’s back to press a kiss against his spine. Dorian only let out a sigh that sounded more like a whine than he probably intended, because at the same moment, the Bull slid a hand around his front to cup his erection. “Got the proof right here,” he said with a squeeze, and Dorian actually did whine this time, though the sound of it was somewhat muffled against the skin of his arms.
The Bull released Dorian’s dick, gave him a swat on the rump, and Dorian’s entire body jerked from it. “Keep your head up, I want to hear you.” Dorian’s sharp exhale was the only answer he gave.
The Bull reached for the belt-pouch at his hip and dug into it blindly, reaching for the bottle he now kept in there most of the time, especially around Skyhold. He poured some of its contents into his palm, recapped and pocketed the bottle for later, then closed his hand around the oil so that it coated his fingers as he stepped in close enough to feel the heat radiating from Dorian’s naked skin. He rested his clean hand on Dorian’s upper back, between his shoulderblades, felt Dorian tense at the touch and then relax again with a soft sigh.
The first touch of the Bull’s fingertips between Dorian’s cheeks elicited a soft moan as the Bull spread the slick around and just inside his hole, and Dorian’s muscles clenched and fluttered under his touch. “This is terribly inappropriate, Bull, it’s improper,” babbled Dorian, his voice bubbling with something giddy, exhilarated. “We’re -- oh, Maker, we’re about to fuck in the courtyard.”
“That’s right,” the Bull said in return as he slid his finger into the tight clench of Dorian’s body and pumped it inside him a few times. He leaned in closer to Dorian and dropped his voice into the husky growl that drove Dorian crazy, set his hair on end. “I’m going to fuck you, hard, going to paint the stone with your come.”
He pulled his finger almost completely out, hooked to rub over his prostate on the way, and then pressed back in with two, sliding them in deep. “Tomorrow morning the soldiers are going to come to train and they’ll have no idea that we were here, that I had you up against this wall, begging for it.” Dorian shivered, murmuring a string of low curses which cut off on a wordless groan when the Bull pumped his arm, started to fuck him with his fingers, twisting his wrist with each thrust.
Dorian hung his head down between his shoulderblades and ground back eagerly against the Bull’s hand, tried to spread his legs further against the resistance of his leathers, already stretched tight around his thighs and creaking in protest. The Bull squeezed his free hand where it lay on Dorian’s neck, kneading the muscle there as he worked him open on his fingers, scissoring them apart on the way out to spread him wider.
“Fuck,” said Dorian, “Enough. Bull, fuck me. Immediately. Please.” The last word sounded like an afterthought; the Bull gave a breathy laugh at Dorian’s impertinence and pumped his fingers into him a few more times, rubbed down hard inside him for the needy little hitch in Dorian’s breath, the way his legs shook from the intensity of it.
“Since you asked so nicely,” the Bull drawled as he pulled his fingers free and reached for the oil, drawing his other hand down the sweat-damp expanse of Dorian’s back to hold him at the hip. He popped the cork stopper out and drizzled the remainder of the bottle’s contents over his prick, hissing from the cold wetness against his heated flesh, and into the cleft of Dorian’s ass to drip down over his hole.
“You’re going to keep teasing me, aren’t you?” Dorian sighed as if resigned, but the Bull could hear the quiver in his voice that matched the trembling in his muscles as he held himself still.
The Bull huffed a laugh and quickly spread the oil over himself, then moved up until the front of his thighs touched the back of Dorian’s and his cock slotted into the cleft of his ass. “You love it,” he said as he grabbed his prick, stroking his fingers over his foreskin to retract it and rubbing his flushed cockhead against Dorian’s hole. His erection, now fully hard after a sluggish recovery from his first orgasm, now twitched at the contact with Dorian’s hot, slick skin.
Dorian sighed tartly. “I’d love it significantly more if you’d just get on with -- ah!” Never let it be said that the Iron Bull didn’t take an opportunity when it presented itself, particularly an opportunity to make Dorian cut off his own words with a gasp.
The Bull always savoured this part: that first slow push in, the involuntary resistance of Dorian’s body at first, the yielding of his flesh as soon as his mind was able to overrule his instinct; the tight blood-hot clutch that enveloped him; the way Dorian‘s breath punched out of him as the Bull pushed in. He took his time, pressed forward little by little and watched Dorian’s body stretch to take him in, murmuring encouragements the entire time. “Fuck, Dorian, you’re so tight, so hot, feels so good. Yeah, baby, just like that, let me in. Good boy, you’re doing so well, fuck.”
He savoured this, too; the way Dorian responded with his entire body -- the sinuous arch of his spine, the quivering of muscles held tight, the shaky gasps and the scrabbling of Dorian’s fingers on the stone. The way he went up on his toes as the Bull bottomed out inside him, then ground his hips back with a little wiggle that rubbed his smooth, perfect ass against the Bull’s belly.
“Fuck,” Dorian agreed, and he rolled his hips back against the Bull’s pelvis, started to fuck himself on the Bull’s dick with both of his hands still on the wall and his head hanging down between his shoulders; the Bull let him do it for a long moment, just enjoyed the tight crush of Dorian’s body working over him while Dorian writhed, panting, in front of him.
“You’re amazing, baby,” said the Bull, leaning forward over Dorian’s back and crowding him closer to the wall so that he had to stand upright, his bare chest just scant inches from the cold stone. The Bull bracketed Dorian’s body with one arm against the wall for balance and slid his free hand up the line of Dorian’s back, squeezed at the nape of his neck before running his fingers further up. He grabbed a fistful of Dorian’s hair and jerked his head back as he thrust forward, and Dorian let out a whine-tinged breath as he clamped like a vice around the Bull’s cock.
The Bull leaned forward, pressed a kiss against the sweat-damp hair at Dorian’s temple and fucked him with quick kicks of his hips that jerked Dorian’s body forward each time and had him alternately moaning and then hissing from the contact of his skin against the cold, rough surface in front of him; his arms were shaking from the effort of holding himself away from the wall, and the Bull took pity on him with a rumbling, breathy laugh next to his ear.
The Bull let go of Dorian’s hair, wrapped his arm around his torso instead and placed his palm flat against Dorian’s solar plexus. “I got you, baby,” he said as he held him back against his own chest, still snapping his hips forward with enough force to drive him up onto his toes. Dorian rolled his head back against the Bull’s chest, groaned long and low and hitched with each of the Bull’s thrusts.
“Bull, my… my throat, please, Dorian whispered, his brow furrowed and his fingers curling into fists against the wall.
“Yeah?” Bull asked, sliding his palm upward to rest over the base of Dorian’s neck. Dorian moaned when he did, let his head fall back further, bared his neck in clear invitation.
“Yes, please,” he whispered, hoarse and desperate. “Tight.”
“You’re so close already, aren’t you?” The Bull tightened his grip a little, pressed his fingers and thumb against the fluttering pulse of Dorian’s carotid arteries, restricting the blood flow but not his breath just yet. Dorian nodded with a whimper, and the Bull felt him swallow, adam’s apple bobbing underneath his hand.
This was something fairly new for them -- the Bull had known from the beginning that Dorian’s neck was practically one big erogenous zone, but he hadn’t expected that being choked was something Dorian would be into. Turned out Dorian was very into it: enough to ask for it outright. And Dorian so rarely asked for things, the Bull wasn’t about to deny him.
Turned out, the Bull was pretty into it too.
“Deep breath,” said the Bull after ten seconds. Dorian dragged in another harsh gulp of air, and the Bull cut off his breath completely.
One of Dorian’s hands left the wall to scrabble against the Bull’s arm, his fingers hooking into the Bull’s flesh, hanging on rather than attempting to pull him away. The Bull pressed a kiss to Dorian’s neck and dropped his free hand down to grab his dick, stroking his fingers through the precome gathered at the tip to spread the slick along his length. Dorian’s hips jerked from the sudden attention to his sorely neglected cock and the Bull laughed low and rumbling in his ear.
The vulgar sounds of sex became almost thunderous in the quiet left by cutting off Dorian’s voice. The Bull jerked Dorian off quickly with one hand, grinding into his ass while he kept the pressure on his neck with the other hand, and by the count of twenty-five Dorian was shivering, practically vibrating against the Bull’s chest, his entire body going rigid and tight as a bowstring.
The Bull groaned hot on Dorian’s neck as he slowed the movement of his hips, driving steady but unhurried into the vice-grip of Dorian’s ass to stave off his own orgasm, focused on getting Dorian off and keeping count in his mind: forty-five seconds, or Dorian, whichever came first.
Thirty-three seconds. “Come on, baby, I’ve got you,” the Bull urged in a whisper as he worked Dorian’s cock in the tight, slick tunnel of his fist, and he felt Dorian tensing, winding still tighter at his words. “So good, fuck, you’re so good, come on. Come for me.”
Dorian jerked, hard, his ass spasming and his cock throbbing in the Bull’s hand. The Bull relaxed his grip on Dorian’s neck and Dorian sobbed a breath so huge it sounded painful, the air just barely shuddering out of him before he gulped down another. “Good, I’ve got you, yeah, just like that, good boy,” the Bull cooed as he stroked Dorian through his orgasm, kissing his neck and cheek and holding him up with his other palm spread across Dorian’s clavicles.
Dorian’s chest heaved with his harsh, laboured breaths and he was shaking like a leaf in the wind when he collapsed back against the Bull’s chest. “So good, so perfect,” the Bull whispered in his ear as he gave his dick one last gentle squeeze, pulling an oversensitive whine out of him, then wrapped his arm around Dorian’s waist and held him tight. His own prick was still hard when it slipped free, but it was less than an afterthought right now.
Dorian came apart so fucking beautifully, shivering and moaning softly in the Bull’s arms, and at the moment, he wanted nothing more than to indulge the protective urge that swelled in him whenever he got to see Dorian like this. Holding Dorian together while he came down from the high was the only thing on his mind.
Eventually Dorian’s breathing calmed and he patted the Bull’s hand on his chest. Dorian stood up and gingerly turned himself around to lean his back against the wall, pulling his leathers back up around his waist but leaving them undone. “My legs are shaking,” Dorian said in a voice that sounded at once observational and delighted, as if he might break out in laughter at any moment. He looked up at the Bull, then, and gave him a dazzling grin, all soft lines and blurred edges. “I’m not sure I’ll be able to walk anywhere just now. We may end up out here all night.”
The Bull finished putting his own clothing to rights, then gave Dorian a smirk before he swept an arm under his knee, the other around his shoulders, and hefted him up into his arms. He fully expected Dorian to struggle or spit invective or grumble about the indignity of it, but he did none of those things -- instead, he leaned into the Bull and patted his chest with a sigh that sounded unusually… happy. It made something warm twist in the Bull’s belly, something that had him smiling fondly to himself as he carried Dorian across the courtyard.
Dorian’s breath was still heavily after all that exertion and he hummed softly on each exhale, his eyes closed as he drifted in the afterglow. The Bull shifted Dorian slightly in his arms when he reached his room so that he could open the door; he had to turn sideways to enter, carefully maneuvering them both through to avoid knocking Dorian’s head or any of his dangling limbs against the door frame.
Once through, the Bull nudged the door closed behind him with his foot, then took the few steps toward the bed and gently lowered Dorian onto the untidy mess of blankets and pillows. He kept hold of Dorian’s legs to work him out of his boots and stockings, then let him go to set the discarded items aside.
As soon as he was released Dorian stretched himself out like a cat in the sun, so that when the Bull returned to the bedside it was to see him with his arms up over his head and back arched, bare feet tangling in the sheets. He was clothed only in his tight leather pants now, the waist placket still loose and untied from earlier, the material rucked down around his hips from his squirming.
The entire expanse of his neck and chest and belly were on display, dark skin soft and warm and inviting, the trail of dark hair under his navel descending down under the leather. With an idle flick of his fingers Dorian lit the wall sconces on either side of the bed, throwing.the curve and jut of his sturdy musculature into starker relief in the flickering firelight and casting him in glowing warmth. Dorian, thoroughly fucked and sated and luxuriating in the afterglow, the picture of beautiful debauchery.
The Bull brought a hand up to his own chest to undo the clasps of his harness without taking his eye off Dorian, pulled off his pauldron and let it drop to the floor. Dorian turned his head against the pillow underneath him and pressed his face into the fabric, inhaled deeply. Let out a little breath like a moan and twisted himself up further in the bedclothes, winding the fabric between his legs, over one ankle and underneath the other, his toes flexing. A wanton display.
“You know exactly how hot you are right now,” said the Bull, smirking when Dorian looked up at him with a saccharine smile and heavy-lidded eyes, a decadent mockery of innocence.
“Incandescently,” Dorian said, slow and honey-thick, “astoundingly, blazingly hot, and I feel wonderful.” The Bull leaned down beside the bed and reached for the water skin he kept there, using the excuse of proximity and balance to rest a hand on Dorian’s thigh. Dorian blinked slowly, smiling dreamily, his expression for once completely open, and the Bull’s heart gave a besotted thump against his ribcage. He held out the water skin and Dorian took it, pushed himself up onto one elbow to drink.
The Bull watched a stray drop of water run down Dorian’s chin, watched his throat work. In the dim firelight, he could just barely make out the darkening redness on Dorian’s neck where the Bull’s fingers had been.
They were only red splotches now but they would be angry bruises tomorrow; Dorian would wear high collars until the marks faded in a week or so, but they’d both get a private thrill out of knowing they were there under the layers of cloth and leather. He would catch Dorian absently rubbing his neck with a far-off look on his face over the coming days, and it would drive the Bull to distraction to know exactly what he was thinking about, what he was remembering.
Dorian finished drinking with a contented sigh, held out the water skin for the Bull to take. “Needed that,” he said as he eased himself back down to lay on the bed. The Bull set the skin aside and patted Dorian’s thigh.
“Let’s get you out of these,” he said, already tugging on Dorian’s leathers. Dorian squirmed and lifted and maneuvered as needed to let himself be fully disrobed; as much as the Bull loved to see Dorian in all his naked glory in his bed, he knew Dorian was starting to chill, could tell by the goosebumps raising along his arms and belly and legs. Dorian hummed softly when the Bull drew the blankets over him and tucked them around his shoulders.
“Why are you still over there?” Dorian blinked up at him with a softer version of his usual petulance at not getting exactly what he wanted, as soon as he wanted it.
The Bull chuckled as he rose to his feet. “I’ll be right with you,” he said, leaving the bedside to quickly get himself out of his clothes and clean himself with a cloth and some water from the skin.
“Bull,” said Dorian after a moment; then, more insistent, “Bull. I require coddling immediately.” The Bull finished up what he was doing and turned a glance over his shoulder to see Dorian beckoning to him with an imperious hand gesture.
“I know you do, Kadan,” said the Bull with a smile, crossing back to the bed and climbing in to lay next to Dorian on his side, his head supported on one arm, elbow on the mattress. Dorian immediately set to work arranging them both the way he wanted, curling onto his side and shimmying back against the Bull’s front, grabbing his hand and pulling until the Bull’s arm was draped over Dorian’s torso. The Bull let himself be positioned, nuzzled into the crook of Dorian’s neck when he settled, scented along his hairline, flicked his tongue out to taste the salt of his skin.
Dorian let out a soft sigh when the Bull pressed a gentle kiss to his neck. He pressed himself more fully to the Bull’s body, and the Bull’s dick twitched hopefully against the soft curve of Dorian’s ass when it wiggled against him. The Bull had almost forgotten his earlier arousal, but with Dorian’s squirming, it roared back to life, his prick swelling back to full hardness with just a few rolls of Dorian’s hips against him.
“Fuck me again,” Dorian whispered urgently. The Bull huffed a breathy laugh against his neck, kissed the skin under his lips.
“Not tonight, Kadan,” said the Bull, running a hand down to Dorian’s hip under the covers to hold him steady so he wouldn’t try anything. “I won’t hurt you.”
Dorian gave a sigh, rubbed himself back so that the Bull’s cock slotted in between his ass cheeks. “You won’t,” he insisted, turning his head to glance at the Bull as well as he could. “I feel amazing.”
“That’s the problem,” said the Bull, soft and fond. “You’re not feeling any pain right now, are you?” He bit Dorian’s neck, harder than he normally would, and Dorian only moaned and ground himself back harder against him. “I could injure you and you wouldn’t even know it.”
“Well then,” said Dorian, sounding resigned as he reached back to take hold of the Bull’s cock. “What are you going to do about this?” He squeezed his grip and gave the Bull a few firm strokes, then released him and offered a playful smirk, and the Bull leaned over him to kiss it from his lips in retaliation, leaving him breathless.
“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it.” Dorian clucked his tongue, gave him the best glare he could manage under the circumstances.
“You most certainly will not deprive me of the opportunity to get you off twice in one night,” said Dorian tartly as he shifted upward, parted his thighs so that the Bull’s cock fell between his legs.
“You,” the Bull growled against his shoulder when he realized what Dorian was doing.
“Me said Dorian in agreement, not letting the Bull finish his thought. He turned at the torso and brought his fingers to his lips so that the Bull could watch him suck three of his own fingers into his mouth and work his tongue over and between them, slicking them with saliva while holding the Bull’s gaze, an obscene mimicry of a blowjob that had arousal pulsing through him.
He watched, transfixed, as Dorian pulled his glistening wet fingers from his mouth and reached down between his legs to spread slick spit over the head of the Bull’s cock, saliva mixing with the precome already leaking from him.
“Fuck,” said the Bull, his hips kicking instinctively from the swirl of Dorian’s wet fingertips. Then Dorian’s hand was gone again, replaced by the firm pressure of his tightly muscled thighs as he crossed his legs at the ankles and held them stiff.
“Fuck me, Bull,” Dorian said, low and hoarse, plea and demand. he craned his neck back for a kiss and the Bull gave it to him as he rolled his hips, his cock sliding slick in the tight warmth between Dorian’s thighs. He brought his hand to Dorian’s hip and squeezed, mouthed along the line of his shoulder. Each thrust nudged the head of the Bull’s cock up against Dorian’s balls and pushed a gust of breath from him, shivery and soft.
Beautiful, thought the Bull as he fixed his lips to Dorian’s neck and sucked at the skin, added another colourful blotch to the mosaic of bruises already forming there. Dorian mewled and stretched out against him, tightening his legs for a blissful moment that had the Bull’s toes curling. Then he relaxed and said, “Not yet, Bull. Don’t come yet.”
The Bull slowed to a stop and Dorian shifted, turned onto his back and grinned, his eyes glinting playfully. “I want to watch,” he said, lazily patting at his chest.
“Bossy,” the Bull huffed with a smile. He loved this side of Dorian, loved that he got to see it so often now. Relaxed and confident, unconcerned and unafraid, casually demanding what he wanted. The Bull maneuvered a leg over Dorian’s torso to straddle his chest, his cock hanging heavy and wet only a hand’s breadth from Dorian’s face. Dorian’s eyes fixated on it for a long moment, and then he tore his gaze away to look up at the Bull’s face, bit his lip coyly.
“I want to see it,” Dorian repeated, idly swirling his fingertips over the head of the Bull’s cock and bringing them to his mouth to smear slick fluid over his lips and suck it off his fingers. The Bull groaned hot and gripped his dick, thumbed over the slit and rolled his hips to push into his fist while he watched Dorian suck on his fingers.
Dorian darted his gaze down again to watch the foreskin slide over the head of the Bull’s cock with each thrust and moaned around his fingers, then popped them out of his mouth and pressed his hand between the Bull’s legs, fingertips on his balls and sliding back, wet over his perineum, to circle his ass. “I want to feel your arse contract when you come,” Dorian whispered, hoarse, his eyes wide as he stared at the Bull’s prick, the gray of his eyes subsumed by dilated pupils.
“Fuck, yeah, yes,” said the Bull, stilling his hips and jerking himself instead so that Dorian could slide a finger into him, careful for lack of proper lubrication. The Bull grabbed his balls, held them up against the root of his dick, spread his legs wider and canted his hips forward so Dorian could better see where his own fingers disappeared into the Bull’s body.
“Oh,” said Dorian, spellbound as he worked a second slim finger in beside the first, the stretch and intrusion kicking the pressure of impending release further up the Bull’s spine. When Dorian curled his fingers, the rub of them inside him was all it took to send the Bull over the edge, spilling over his fingers and onto Dorian’s chest with a heavy groan of completion as his cock jerked in his hand and his ass squeezed rhythmically around Dorian’s fingers.
Dorian’s fingers slipped out as the Bull sat back and leaned down, arms bracketing Dorian’s head so he could kiss him, lazy and sloppy and fucking perfect, even with his come smearing wet between their chests. He didn’t care about that, didn’t care about anything but the swirl of his tongue in Dorian’s mouth, the way Dorian wrapped his arms around the Bull’s shoulders and held him there.
Their kissing slowed as the post-orgasmic fog set in and the boneless exhaustion took hold, and then they were both giggling breathily against each other’s lips. With great effort, the Bull hefted himself off of Dorian to sprawl on his back next to him, careful as always of his horns in relation to Dorian’s head. He cast an arm down to the side of the bed without looking, feeling around for the damp cloth from earlier -- it was all but dried out by the time he found it, but it still served its purpose. He carefully cleaned Dorian’s chest off, then gave his own a cursory swipe and threw the cloth away and pulled at the blanket, long since shucked down to the foot of the bed, to cover them both.
Dorian curled up along his side and the Bull wrapped an arm around his shoulder, holding him close. They lay together in comfortable silence for a few long moments while the Bull’s breathing returned to normal, and then Dorian said, “I don’t know how you do it, Amatus.” The Bull grunted a puzzled sound, and Dorian nuzzled further against his side and continued. “You give me exactly what I want even before I realize I want it.”
The Bull ruffled a hand through the mess of Dorian’s hair -- a testament to his mood that he didn’t care how tangled and unruly it was, that he didn’t so much as complain about the Bull making it worse. “I’ve had practice.”
“Mm, no,” said Dorian, “You’ve done it since the beginning.” He draped one arm over the Bull’s chest, lay his hand over the Bull’s sternum. Rubbed a fingertip over a knot of scar tissue. “I have a lot to thank you for,” he said after a thoughtful moment. “You’ve been… very good for me.”
The Bull thought back to his conversation with the Inquisitor, all those months ago, and squeezed Dorian’s shoulder fondly. “We’ve been good for each other, Kadan,” he said, pressing a kiss to the top of Dorian’s head.
“We do make quite a pair, don’t we?” Dorian shifted, twined his legs with the Bull’s under the blankets, cold toes against the Bull’s calves.
“Yeah. We do.”